Drunk and a Pen
by Evelynhunters
Summary: He thinks they first met at a book signing, him drunk and a pen in his hand and her with a leather jacket and a badge. It's sorta like that.
He thinks they first met at a book signing, him drunk and a pen in his hand and her with a leather jacket and a badge.

It's sorta like that.

* * *

He's slightly drunk, he'll admit that.

He's slightly drunk off of the vodka he got at the bar near the book store. He'd have to be to get through his crazy fans (but he loves them anyway). He's got a pen in his hand (the quick drying and not smudging ones -it's not his first rodeo) and his sunglasses in the other as he slouches against the chair. He smiles at the excited person in front of the table(it's plastic-y and fake and it feels thin against his teeth) and he wonders if the signs that Gina and he had been fighting were showing under his eyes, but he's waited too long for this and really, those people in line have waited even longer, so he really can't complain.

"Hi, what's your name?" He lets his eyes crinkle, smirking like he has been sleeping lately instead of drinking. He's not sure if the girl in front of him could smell the alcohol on his breath through the gum he was chewing.

"Jen," she replies back with a smile that was all lip and no teeth. "I'm your _biggest_ fan!" She gushed, stressing on the biggest part, flipping her hair and batting her lashes. She subtlety (not really but are they ever? He thinks) pushes her bra up in her tank top. "I just loved the Eric Storm series!"

He blinks.

"The _Eric_ Storm series?" He asks, still with crinkled eyes and a smirk (and it feels more plastic-y than ever). She nods, seemingly impressed with herself that she had managed to trick him.

"Well, Jen, glad you liked _Eric_ Storm." He no longer hides the disdain in his voice. What's he doing? He should like her. She seems just like the type of person that could make him forget about all his troubles right now.

(She seems like his usual type...Blonde, bimbo, and boobs.)

She giggles, the sickly sweet sound drips with honey in the air. "Well, maybe you can show me his moves sometimes," she winks and slides her hand and a piece of paper along the table before stopping in front of his arm. "Call me!" She sing songs as she walks away.

He looks at the stripe of paper near his arm with smudged (smudged...amateur) numbers on it. He's got half a mind to keep it and call her and the other half to keep it and spit his gum out with. The next person in line walks forward, and their movement blows the strip of paper off the table.

"Hi, my name's Kate," he hears. The voice is soft, but the tone is low, almost as if she didn't want to sound too harsh. He looks up, and is greeted by choppy brown hair and brown eyes. She's wearing a turtleneck and a leather jacket (practically screaming that she's not another Jen).

He grins lopsidedly. (He's drunk and she's hot. Like...really hot.)

"Hi, nice to meet you," he smiles (less plastic-y and fake). "Also a Derrick Storm fan, I see?" He motions to the book clutched in her hands, gripped tightly like a shield but not hard enough to wrinkle the cover. She loosens her grip and puts the book on the surface. It looks new, he thinks, but by the worn of the spine he can tell it had just been in good condition.

"Yeah," she says, the word sounding like a hum, "it got me through a pretty bad time." She frowns, looking at the floor instead of him. He notice that with her fingers she's twirling a ring, too old and worn to be hers, as she seems to lose her focus.

"Well, Kate, saying that makes my heart warm." He jokes, trying to get her attention off of whatever she had been thinking of. She blinks, seemingly coming out of a trance. She cracks a smile, awkward at best. It doesn't fit her face, he thinks. It looks out of place, it doesn't look like hers, just like that ring. "So, how are you enjoying New York?" He asks, more for the sake of talking then needing to know (or more because he's drunk and she's kinda beautiful).

"Uh...it's fine. I guess," she scrunch her nose as she talks, her face puzzled with confusion. "I'm actually training to be a cop," the words part for her mouth as if she didn't articulate them, "A detective. Actually." She amends, slightly blushing as if she was wondering why on Earth had she say that.

"That's so cool! A detective..." He trails off, smiling bigger than he had before. He doesn't really know why he's smiling. She's...intriguing.

 _Intriguing? You write mysteries, not harlequin, idiot._

He takes the book laying in the ledge and brings it towards him. He flips to the front cover, pen in hand ready to sign. There's a little sticker also on the inside of the cover, with the words 'the private library of Kate Beckett'.

His hand pauses, previously on the journey of writing _Best Wishes, Richard Castle_ with a messy scribble like he had done to all the previous fans as he thinks it over. He writes a different note, not as generic or plain. He writes one specifically fitted for her.

 _Kate Beckett,_ he thinks _. Someone ought to write her story with the mystery of the old ring and that hundred mile gaze in her eyes._

He closes the cover before sliding the book back to her, careful not to tear the cover. She smiles, with a real, albeit small, smile that suits her face much better. She hasn't read it yet, he thinks. He had covered what he was writing with his elbow so she couldn't see. She murmurs a goodbye, and he shakes her hand. He wants to see her expression when she reads it, but she's already hurrying out of the store, not glancing back at him.

 _Kate Beckett,_ he thinks _. I'll remember that name._

(But he doesn't, and he forgets that day like the many before it and the many after it.)

* * *

She's taking off her heels and her jacket when she realises she hasn't read what he signed yet. Her feet had hurt and he asked questions and she didn't know why she answered them but in the embarrassment she hadn't read the signing yet.

It's probably just a signature, she tries to downplay as she opens the book carefully, not wanting to mess up the pristine cover in her excitement. She blinks at what he wrote.

To the lovely Kate Beckett,

The future of the NYPD, who would be a fool not to hire her.

From,

Rick Castle

She smiles.

* * *

He thinks they first met at a book signing, him drunk and a pen in his hand and her with a leather jacket and a badge.

It's sorta like that.


End file.
